Fearless
by Random1377
Summary: Aoyama women are fearless. But when the only thing that's ever mattered is stripped from her, will Motoko's strength be enough to save her from self destruction?
1. Northern Star

Disclaimer: Love Hina is the property of Ken Akamatsu, not me. If he, or anyone affiliated with, employed by, or really close to him has issues with this not-for-profit fan-fiction story, it will be removed from the web immediately.

Fearless

Part 1 – Northern Star

By Random1377

Shinobu could not understand why Motoko did not like Keitaro. As far as she could see, the Hinata Sou's manager was sweet, kind, and thoughtful – everything a girl should look for in a prospective husband. Sure he was a bit clumsy, and sure, he had not quite managed to test into Toudai just yet, but Shinobu was sure he would manage it yet.

She was rooting for him, and even if it looked like Naru would be the one he ended up with romantically, she would even support him in that, so when Motoko sent the manager flying through the dinning room wall and out into the hot springs, all Shinobu could think was, _Why? Why does she hate him so much?_

The swordswoman herself was certainly not offering any hints as she sheathed her sword and stalked off towards her room, leaving Shinobu and the rest of residents to clean up.

"Boob shot?" Kitsune asked after a moment of thoughtful silence.

"Buttgrab," Naru corrected, dipping her chopsticks back into her rice without looking up.

Kitsune pulled out a small, well-worn notebook. "How many times is that this week?"

"Five."

"Five butt, or five between butt and boob?"

Naru glanced out at the spluttering manager. "Five butt," she sighed. "I've lost count of the boob grabs. Pervert…"

Noticing Shinobu's disapproving frown, Kitsune held up her notebook. "You sure you don't wanna get down on this action?" she drawled. "Five dollar buy-in, and if you hit the spread, the pot is worth fifty bucks."

"Fifty?" Shinobu echoed. "Ten people are betting on this?"

"No," Kitsune admitted, "Haruka paid twice, and Naru put in-"

"Well, someone should go help the idiot out of the water," Naru interrupted quickly. "Thanks for the food."

Curious in spite of herself, Shinobu asked, "What's the bet, exactly?"

Kitsune grinned. "Umm, how many 'accidents' it takes before Motoko loses it and demands his resignation… again."

"That's horrible!"

"Yeah, but profitable," Kitsune countered. "See, I get ten percent of the take."

"Ah."

Motoko reappeared in the dinning room doorway. "I forgot my dinner," she said coolly, "would you hand it to me, Kitsune?"

Kitsune glanced out into the hot springs, seemingly gauging how far Keitaro was from coming back in and adding to her points spread, but as it seemed he had been knocked out cold, she simply sighed and passed Motoko her food.

Unable to contain herself, Shinobu blurted, "Why do you hate him so much?"

Accepting her dinner from Kitsune, Motoko gave Shinobu a cursory glance. "Because he has no pole."

Shinobu glanced at Kitsune, who shrugged, looking just as baffled as she was. "I… think he does," Kitsune said slowly, "I mean, I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure when he first got here Shinobu-"

"Not _that_," Motoko cut in impatiently, "a pole – a center – something that keeps him grounded." When the other two continued to look blank, Motoko rolled her eyes. "The north star," she said flatly, pointing to the ceiling, "people use it to find their bearings, are you with me so far? It's the polestar – the brightest light in the sky. Keitaro doesn't have a pole to focus on, so he just bumbles through his life, lost like a babe in the woods."

Kitsune considered this for a long, long moment before rendering her verdict on the idea.

"I think you're reaching."

Before Motoko could reply, Shinobu added, "He's got a focus, Motoko. He wants to get into Toudai – that's his… his pole."

Waving a hand, Motoko dismissed the idea. "I question his dedication," she said bluntly. "He spends an awful lot of his time fraternizing and…" she blushed, "groping people."

"He… doesn't grope me," Shinobu said slowly, sounding ever so slightly disappointed by this fact.

Motoko looked smug as she replied, "That just proves he's doing it on purpose. If he groped you, he'd go to jail, but he _somehow_ manages to avoid you while fondling all the rest of us."

Kitsune arched an eyebrow. "He's never groped _you_, has he?"

"No," Motoko admitted, "but he has 'accidentally' come into the hot spring while I'm naked, and I'm sure it's just a matter of time before-"

"Hey!" Kitsune exclaimed, rising to her feet and pounding her right hand with her fist. "_Hey!"_

Eagerly, Motoko leaned closer. "You see my point, right?" she said triumphantly.

"No!" Kitsune declared. "I just remembered that I have a spare bottle of sake stuffed in the back of my closet!" As Shinobu covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, Kitsune started towards the door, concluding the conversation with a dry, "You, on the other hand, are up in the night. Enjoy your dinner."

Still trying not to laugh, Shinobu turned to the cooking pot to set aside leftovers for Su and Sarah, both of whom had been absent from dinner for reasons known only to them.

"No vision," Motoko said sourly, "that's what her problem is. Can't see the bigger picture."

Feeling that it was in her best interest to agree, Shinobu mumbled, "Uh huh."

Motoko lingered for a moment, seemingly on the verge of restating her case, but ultimately, she simply took her leave. Once she was gone, Shinobu heaved a sigh of relief, scooping an extra helping of dinner onto Keitaro's plate as Naru finally managed to haul him up out of the water.

After she had eaten, and taken some time to digest, Motoko retired to the rooftop to practice her blade work. Though she tried to focus on her movements, she found her mind going back to the manager of the Hinata Sou several times during her katas.

_Get out of my mind,_ she thought angrily, swinging her blade overhead with more force than was strictly necessary. _I don't want to think about you!_

Unfortunately, her thoughts did not listen to this directive, and over the next few days, she found her musings returning from time to time to analyses of why she found the manager of the Hinata Sou so annoying.

( 0 0 0 )

Several days after Shinobu's blunt questioning, Motoko found herself trailing along after Keitaro, feeling and looking disgruntled at having to where she was in the first place. _Why do I need to go shopping with him?_ she thought grumpily. _Shinobu should have gone – she actually likes this… man._

The younger girl's tastes were beyond Motoko's understanding.

_Honestly,_ she mused, finding her thoughts traveling along an already well-worn path, _there's nothing attractive about him. He's not fit, powerful, or terribly compelling. Sure, he's ok looking, and yeah, he's nice enough, but that's about it._

Keitaro noticed her looking at him and gave her a sickly smile. "You… wanna stop on the way back and get some tea or something?"

"No," Motoko replied icily, "I'd rather go straight home."

"Ok."

Motoko glanced at him from the corner of her eye. _He really doesn't have much drive,_ she thought acidly. _What kind of lame invitation was that, anyway? 'Do you want to get some tea?' Might as well have asked me if I want to go karaoke with him. I mean, he knows I don't like him… why even bother? And then he doesn't even follow up with a second offer? Pathetic._

Some might have considered these thoughts contradictory, but Motoko felt that they went hand in hand. In her mind it was perfectly fine to be annoyed at the initial invitation _and_ the lack of pursuit. One showed absence of determination, the other lack of understanding.

It would have been better for her opinion of Keitaro if he had said nothing at all.

"So, how is school going?"

But no one ever said that Keitaro learned from his mistakes.

Trying not to grind her teeth, Motoko mumbled, "They're going fine, thank you."

"Oh," Keitaro said, "good."

_Honestly,_ the swordswoman thought, _just shut up 'manager-san,' because you're starting to annoy me._

Keitaro, naturally, did not hear her thoughts. "Do you like to read?"

Motoko very nearly snapped, but hesitated, as Keitaro had finally touched on a subject she actually enjoyed. "Yes," he said levelly, refraining from giving him too much encouragement, "I do."

Smiling, Keitaro said, "What kinds of books?"

Unfortunately for him, the genre of novel Motoko favored (romance) was not one she was willing to admit, so she muttered a simple, "All kinds," and closed the topic.

They walked for a few moments in silence, reaching the corner of a rather busy intersection and looking both ways to ensure that the path was clear. "Hey," Keitaro said suddenly, "I think I might have a book you'd like. It's-"

Motoko stopped listening – not out of any rudeness, but because all of her attention was violently refocused on the far side of the street… where a boy of about three years old had stepped off of the curb and into the path of an oncoming truck.

She never hesitated. Throwing herself forward, she shot across the street, leaving Keitaro gaping in her wake as she dove in front of the truck, sliding feet-first into its path and scooping the boy up in her left arm as she rolled clear of the huge vehicle, her mind calculating every angle of the impending accident and concluding that she could get the child out of the way with at least two seconds to spare.

"Are you alright?" she asked, focusing all of her attention on the sobbing youth and ignoring the stinging in her gravel-lacerated legs. "Are you hurt? Can you-"

Pain – unlike any she had even imagined before – exploded in her right hand as the truck came to a screeching halt, leaving half of its tire tread on the pavement in a long, sinuous streak. Motoko pulled, instinctively trying to escape the spike of agony shooting up her arm, but no matter how she tugged, her hand would not reply. Pulling her attention away from the boy for a moment, she glanced down, her eyes widening in horror as she found her hand trapped between the pavement and one of the truck's huge, heavy treaded tires.

The world swam into grey as Motoko thought, _He turned… that idiot… turned TOWARDS us…!_

Impossibly, the pain grew worse – as if seeing her hand pinned to the street somehow made the damage worse. Stars and pinwheels of light dazzled Motoko's vision as the delayed shouts of the bystanders rose high into the night, filling her ears until all the lights and sounds blurred into a single, unbroken scream, until finally… everything went silent, and Motoko slumped against the truck's fender in a dead faint.

Continued…

Pre-read on this chapter was by Hawker-748, and the original concept for this story was supplied by Hyperspace. I know this isn't quite the idea you gave us, but I hope you don't mind the alteration.


	2. Waking Dream

Disclaimer – see part 1.

Fearless

Part 2 – Waking Dream

By Random1377

The first thing Motoko noticed when she awoke was that her nose itched, and her right hand felt like it was covered in a dozen creeping, stinging wasps. She tried to flex it into a fist, but the strange, crawling pain prevented her from feeling if she was successful or not. Her head swam and her mouth felt as if it was filled with cotton, which – from the experience of having her appendix taken out – meant that she had been placed under general anesthetic.

Everything felt fuzzy around the edges, as if the general was still doing its work, but she had always been quick to recover from things like that, and while she was not at a hundred percent, she was able to think straight and draw several deep, even breaths before her mind was forced back around to memories of the accident.

Her brow wrinkled as she remembered the screeching tires of the truck, and the massive eruption of pain in her hand. _Makes sense that they put me under to work on it,_ she thought hazily, _must be… pretty bad._

She scratched her nose with her left hand and opened her eyes, blinking in the harsh glare of a florescent bar overhead. She was obviously in a hospital, as the smell of antiseptic was sharp and all-encompassing. Somewhere to her right, a machine steadily beeped off heartbeats – hers, she realized suddenly, a small frown creasing her brow as she considered the fact that you don't normally get hooked up to heart monitor for a hand injury.

_Ok,_ she thought, still feeling the effects of the anesthetic as she closed her eyes and slowly lifted her right hand in front of her face. _It can't be that bad – I can still feel…_

The thought trailed off as she opened her eyes.

"Nnnnkkk…!"

Motoko's face went dead white as she realized two facts almost simultaneously – first, that the mewling cry resonating in the air was coming from her own throat, and second… that her right hand was gone from the wrist down.

"Doctor!"

Her eyes shot up from the stump of her hand at the sound of a tray clattering to the floor. She tried to speak, but her mouth simply moved without forming words as the nurse standing at the foot of her bed bolted, leaving the tray of food where it had crashed to the ground.

"Doctor," the woman shouted, "the patient – your patient is awake!"

"Impossible," a stern voice replied, "she should be under for at least…"

Motoko could only guess what the doctor was thinking as he rounded the corner and came into the room, finding her sitting halfway up in bed and holding the remains of her hand up with a dazed, bewildered expression on her face. Then, he was moving, shouting for the nurse to assist him as Motoko flung the covers back and tried to stagger to her feet.

"Hold her," the doctor ordered, grabbing Motoko's shoulders and pinning her to the bed, "Damn it, why wasn't her arm restrained? She could reopen her wounds!"

"I'm sorry!" the nurse gasped, carefully, but firmly catching Motoko's upper arm and holding it down as she reached for the restraint built into the bed. "She shouldn't have come out of anesthesia for another two hours!"

The doctor simply grunted, reaching for the restraint on the opposite side, but Motoko – panicked, confused, and barely able to comprehend the damage she was causing – retaliated. Muscles flexed… chi wells opened wide… pupils dilated… and with the bed as a brace, Motoko planted her left palm in the center of the doctor's chest and shoved with all of her might, sending him flying back to crash into the wall next to her door.

"Get… off of me…"

Terrified beyond the ability to disobey, the nurse scrambled back, cowering in the corner and covering her face as Motoko forced herself upright and began staggering towards the door. Rational thought was impossible for the young swordswoman – all that mattered to her was to get out of that horrible room and escape the hospital.

In her disoriented state, the connection between the location and the fact that her hand was now missing had been firmly made, so getting out was her only priority, regardless of how she accomplished it. Still reeling from the drugs in her system, Motoko made it into the hallway, bearing her teeth as an orderly ran towards her and nearly making the man soil himself with the fierceness of her glare.

"Mot-"

At a sound from her left, Motoko whirled, lashing out and wrapping her remaining hand around the throat of the person trying to stop her. As a kendoist, her upper body had developed much greater strength than the average girl's, so it was not beyond her ability to hoist her attacker off the ground and slam him (she reasoned it was a him, as the grunt he let out was very unladylike) against the wall. Her eyes went everywhere as she calculated how many more people lay between her and the exit, barely even taking note of the flailing man in her iron grip.

"-oko."

She blinked, slowly turning her attention to the man she had pinned to the wall, staring blankly as she realized that the man clutched by the throat was none other than her dormitory manager.

And he was starting to turn blue.

"Ur…ashima…?"

Distracted as she was, she was taken off guard by a burly orderly, who – seeing his opening – slipped his arms up under hers and caught her in a full nelson.

"Watch her arm!" the doctor panted as he staggered out of the room. "Don't hurt her!"

Motoko's head swam as Keitaro slid down the wall, coughing and covering his throat with both hands as the orderly tightened his hold. "Urashima," she whispered, barely even noticing as a second orderly roughly shoved her sleeve up to bare her upper arm. "I… I'm sor-" she hissed as a needle was thrust into her arm, struggling ineffectually as her eyelids slowly grew heavy and she sagged forward in the orderly's arms, once more claimed by darkness.

( 0 0 0 )

The next time Motoko came around, her head was throbbing so bad she did not want to open her eyes. A miserable groan escaped her lips, and when she tried to rub her temples, she found that her arms had both been restrained, and flexing her leg muscles told her that they were tied down as well.

"Are you awake?"

Motoko flinched at the soft query, vividly recalling that the last time she had heard that voice was when her hand was wrapped around the owner's throat.

"Yes, Urashima… I'm awake…"

"Sorry about the handcuff things," Keitaro said quietly. "I tried to tell them not to put them on, but they said… they said they couldn't risk you hurting yourself again…"

Turning her head away from the sound of his voice, Motoko whispered, "It's alright, Urashima, I understand."

When next he spoke, Motoko clenched her eyes tighter together, as she realized the reason his voice was so low was that she had nearly crushed his throat.

"The… doctor wanted me to tell you that you can go home in just a few more days."

Motoko nodded. "I see."

"They… they tried, you know," Keitaro said hesitantly, "you were in the operating room for over-"

"Don't," Motoko cut in sharply, finally opening her eyes as Keitaro silenced himself. "Just… don't."

"…ok."

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, neither knowing exactly what they should say. As the quiet dragged on, however, they were spared the need to make small talk by a small commotion in the hallway just on the other side of Motoko's door.

"Please, sir," a nurse was saying, "you can't bring that in here."

"Oh?" a man's deep, resonant voice replied. "I apologize. Where I'm from, it's not a problem, and it's terribly valuable to me."

"But, but this is a hospital," the nurse stammered, "please, if you could leave it at the front desk."

"I'll tell you what," the man said, lowering his voice so that Motoko and Keitaro could barely hear it through the door, "let me hold on to it and I'll make it worth your while."

"S-sir, I-"

"What time are you off?"

"Sir, please!"

"I won't be long, I promise… and if you tell me what time you're off…"

There was a long moment of silence.

"…don't let anyone see it, ok?"

"Excellent. Thank you, miss…?"

"Yuki," the nurse murmured, lowering her voice until it was softer than the man's quietest whisper, "and… and I'm off at six…"

"Shameless," Motoko muttered as the man uttered a soft chuckle, "some women are…"

She trailed off, her eyes going wide as the door to her room swung open and a tall, handsome man stepped into the room, smiling politely as gave her a formal bow. He was dressed in a black workout gi, and strapped to his belt (clearly the object of contention in his recent conversation with nurse Yuki) was a long, elegant katana in a black scabbard.

"Hello, little sister," he said warmly, "it's been a while."

"Toshio," Motoko breathed, glancing at the door behind him, "is… is sister…?"

The man Motoko had identified as Toshio shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said apologetically, "since your… accident, my wife has been called back to the dojo, so she sent me in her stead."

Keitaro looked from one to the other, noting the strange tension around Motoko's eyes as the swordswoman cleared her throat and asked, "Is there… a message from my family?"

Toshio glanced at Keitaro. "There is," he confirmed, turning his eyes back to Motoko, "if you don't mind having it heard by this gentleman."

Motoko nodded impatiently. "Yes, it's fine," she said quickly, "I… I need to know… what they said."

Sighing, Toshio bowed and said, "As you wish." Straightening, he placed his hands behind his back and formally recited, "Clan Aoyama sends its deepest regrets on your injury, Motoko, and wishes you Godspeed in your recovery. It goes without saying that all medical bills will be taken care of, but to avoid any confusion, let us say now that we of Clan Aoyama would never turn its back on it's favored…" he paused, wetting his lips before concluding, "daughter…"

Keitaro blinked as Motoko's face went pale and her hand clenched the bedspread. "So this is my answer?" she rasped. "_This…?_"

Confused, Keitaro said, "I don't underst-"

"Get out," Motoko whispered, "both of you, please leave immediately."

Reluctantly, Keitaro got to his feet, stepping out of the room as Toshio held the door for him. "Motoko," the man said smoothly, "I have also been asked to let you know that for the time being – at least until you have… adjusted, I will be staying with you." Ignoring her glare, he stepped into the hallway, offering one final comment before letting the door swing shut. "My hand shall be as your hand."

In the quiet of the hallway, Keitaro hesitantly stammered, "W-why was she so upset? I mean, you said everything would be taken care of…so why did she throw us out?"

Clapping the younger man on the shoulder, Toshio gave him a brilliant smile.

"No idea, my friend, no idea. Now, I understand that you are the manager of a dorm of some renown in these parts, and I fear I must impose on you to loan me one of your rooms for a time."

Keitaro frowned, feeling quite sure that the man knew _exactly_ what was wrong with Motoko, but instead of commenting on this, he replied, "It's a girls' dorm, mister… Aoyama?" He waited for the confirming nod before adding, guessing (correctly) that the man had taken the Aoyama name rather than Motoko's sister taking his. "I don't think you can stay with us."

"Nonsense," the man announced brightly. "In these circumstances, I'm sure no one would mind… and besides," he held up his left hand, pointing to the simple gold band on his ring finger, "I'm a married man."

( 0 0 0 )

Back in her room, Motoko simply stared at the ceiling, refusing to accept the message her brother-in-law had delivered. She had closed her eyes hundreds of times – perhaps thousands – and tried to wake herself up… but every time she opened them again, she was faced with the same ceiling.

There was no waking.

_Alright,_ she thought calmly, _this is… this is reality – I can accept that._

Deliberately, she focused all of her chi, directing it into her right forearm and pooling it for several moments before jerking upward as hard as she could.

"Uh!"

A soft gasp escaped her lips as the restraint gave way under the concentrated attack. Slowly, she brought the bandaged appendage into view, turning it from left to right and surveying it from every angle as she thought, _This… is my reality now._

She drew several deep, cleansing breaths, slowly lowering her arm back down onto the bed and forcing aside all negative thoughts. This was not the time for sorrow and self pity, she told herself, this was the time for action and forward motion. She would resume her training, or way or another, and she _would_ take over the God's Cry School when she finished college.

This was not a setback, this was an opportunity – an opportunity to show everyone in her life that she was no quitter. There was _no_ reason for her eyes to be damp, damn it! _None!_

"Aoyama women are soldiers," she recited, recalling an old, family mantra and finding that it soothed her unsteady nerves. "Aoyama women do not back down. Aoyama women do not take no for an answer. Aoyama women are strong, powerful, uncompromising, and fierce."

She drew in another, deep breath and forced her muscles to relax, deciding that if she was to resume her training, she would need as much rest as possible to keep her strength up, and wasting all of her chi in breaking the other restraints would be pointless, since she wouldn't be strong enough to make it out the front door.

"Aoyama women," she whispered, closing her eyes and letting her exhausted body tumble towards sleep, "are fearless…"

Continued…

Thanks going out to Hawker-748 for pre-reading.


	3. A Will of Iron

Disclaimer: see part 1

Fearless

Part 3 – A Will of Iron

By Random1377

The air in the Hinata Sou was charged with expectation. Every single resident stood at the top of the stairs, waiting anxiously for the return of their friend. Keitaro had called and let them know that they were on the way, and the cleaning that had taken place as soon as the phone had hit the cradle was like a storm of brooms, spray bottles, and tons and tons of air freshener.

Kitsune adjusted her dress and glanced at Naru from the side of her eyes. "She'll still be the same," she said abruptly, drawing the other girl's attention. "It's… she'll still be Motoko."

"I know that," Naru said, sounding relieved in spite of her words, "I'm just kind of, you know, worried."

"Because she didn't want visitors?"

"…yeah."

Tentatively, Kitsune put an arm around her friend. "She'll need some time," she said quietly. "We all know how strong she is, but this time… we'll take care of her."

Naru nodded, leaning briefly against Kitsune's shoulder for support as she sighed, "I know, I know, it's just all so damn unexpected."

Kitsune snorted. "No one _expects_ to get their hand crushed, Naru – unless they work with heavy machinery."

"Did you hear about the truck driver?" Naru asked suddenly. "The one who… you know."

"Huh uh."

Gazing up into the sky, Naru whispered, "He quit his job and moved to another prefecture. I guess he left a note that said he couldn't handle the guilt."

"Oh…"

The two fell silent as Shinobu suddenly turned around and headed back into the Hinata Sou. "I'm gonna go make sure dinner's ready."

"Su, why don't you go with her?" Haruka suggested gently. "Shinobu could probably use a hand."

Su saluted and scampered after the blue-haired girl, leaving the more mature residents alone at the top of the stairs.

"I don't think Su understands," Kitsune observed as soon as the younger girl was out of sight. "She kept asking me if she should make Motoko a mechanized sword drawing machine to help her with her swordwork."

Haruka hid her frown behind her hand, drawing deeply from her cigarette before she replied, "But Shinobu does… and I don't want her to have to cry all by herself. Su's always good at being there for Shinobu."

Everyone nodded, and the little group went back to waiting… until Naru suddenly tensed and whispered, "I see them."

All the way at the bottom of the stairs, they could make out a small bunch of figures making their way slowly up towards the Sou. In the lead, obvious due to his height, was their visitor, Toshio Aoyama. Keitaro had described the man over the phone, so his appearance was not a surprise, but it was a bit shocking to see him towering over the two residents making their way up the stairs on either side of him.

Keitaro had mentioned how tall he was, but with himself and Motoko for contrast, it really came into focus.

"She looks smaller," Naru blurted suddenly, covering her mouth and shooting Kitsune a guilty look.

Kitsune nodded and took her hand. "Yeah, a little," she said soothingly, "but I think most of it is because she's standing so close to that tall… strong… rugged… handsome… wow…"

Naru smiled weakly as her friend sized Motoko's brother-in-law up. "Married," she added, "don't forget that part."

They fell silent once more as the trio finished their long walk up the stairs and came to a halt in front of them. "W-we're home," Keitaro stammered, looking uncomfortable as everyone looked his way. "This is Mister Aoyama-"

"Toshio," the man cut in smoothly, shaking hands with the girls. "Just… Toshio."

The ladies smiled (Kitsune a bit wider than the others) and turned their attention to Motoko. Instantly, Naru's brow drew down. "You let her carry her own _bag?_" she demanded. "Keitaro!"

"She-"

"Come on," Naru interrupted immediately, putting an arm around Motoko's shoulder as she shot Keitaro a nasty glare. "Shinobu's almost got dinner ready."

Toshio patted Keitaro consolingly on the shoulder as Motoko was lead into the house. "Don't worry," he advised good-naturedly, "I know what happened."

Keitaro sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yeah…"

It wouldn't do any good to tell Naru that he had _tried _to carry Motoko's bag. His crush and sometime study partner would have just said that he didn't try hard enough.

As the two men stepped into the Sou, they could hear Kitsune saying, "ly should lie down, shouldn't you?"

"My legs are fine," Motoko replied, "in fact, they're a little weak from lying in bed so much, so I should really-"

"Then you shouldn't overdo it!" Naru said, spotting Keitaro as he slipped his shoes off. "Motoko's doctor said she should take it easy, right?" she asked, her tone indicating that (if this was true or not) she was going to make sure Motoko was well rested.

Keitaro averted his eyes as Motoko shot him a dangerous, 'keep your mouth shut' look. "Well, not exactly," he said uncomfortably. "He said she should avoid any strenuous activity with-"

"See?" Naru said quickly, "Avoid any strenuous activity-"

"That could reopen my wound," Motoko finally managed to cut in. "He said I was supposed to exercise my legs as much as possible to recover from any atrophy caused by the extended hospital stay – but even that shouldn't take long, because I didn't lie down all that much." She glanced significantly at her right arm. "My legs are _not_ the problem."

Everyone shifted awkwardly on their feet, but as Naru opened her mouth to point out another reason why Motoko should stay still, a large, brightly colored shape detached itself from the rafters and fell towards the couch with a gleeful cry of, "Motokooooooo!"

"Su, _no!_" Haruka shouted, throwing herself between the injured swordswoman and her would-be hugger and catching the younger girl neatly around the waist. The force threw Haruka backwards, and she stumbled, barely managing to redirect the momentum and send Su into the seat next to the couch with a tremendous crash.

As resilient as ever, the dark-skinned girl bounced to her feet and leapt at Motoko once more, ignoring the exclamations all around her as she shouted, "Play with me!"

Putting one hand out, Naru planted it directly in the middle of Su's chest. Bracing herself, she thrust her arm forward, knocking Su back into the chair and holding her in place as she gave her a stern glare. "That's _enough!_" she declared firmly. "Motoko's hurt – can't you see that? What are you thinking?"

Su's blue eyes sparkled as she looked up into Naru's face. "I was thinking I wanted to play," she said honestly. "And Motoko's been gone for so long, I-"

"She's _hurt_," Naru snapped. "Are you blind? Haven't you heard anything over the past few days? Are you stu-"

"Don't."

Naru glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she found Motoko on her feet and towering over her. "But-"

"Don't… you… _ever_… call her stupid," Motoko whispered coldly. "Su, I would love to play with you. Let's go."

Before Naru could react, Su slipped under her outstretched arm and hopped up onto Motoko's back. "Giddy up!" she called happily, wrapping her legs around Motoko's waist and pointing over the swordswoman's shoulder. "Come on, come on!"

"Ahh youth," Toshio mused as the others gaped at the spectacle of Su riding Motoko out of the room and whooping like a cowgirl. "I like this place already."

( 0 0 0 )

Keitaro stared up at the cloudless sky, resting his shoulders against the side of his small bathtub as he let out a long, deep groan. It had been a very long day, and he was glad it was over, even though the morning was bound to bring more of the same kind of trouble to his life. It always did.

_Only this time, there's not much I can do about it,_ he mused, splashing some water on his face as he recalled the stern talking to he had received for LETTING Motoko play with Su all day. _Like I could have stopped her! Really, I just…_

He let the thought trail off. Why bother focusing on something you had no control over?

After his bath, Keitaro wandered the halls of the Sou, making sure everything was shut down for the evening. "Naru's studying," he murmured as he passed her door. "Kitsune's probably drinking… Shinobu's always asleep by this hour… Toshio's on the couch – and snoring, I can hear him from here…"

Motoko's door stood before him, open just far enough for him to hear the sound of soft, even breathing from within. _I… really shouldn't do this,_ he thought guiltily. _If Naru sees me, she'll kill me. If Motoko's awake, SHE'LL kill me. Hell, basically if anyone sees me, I'm a dead man, so I should just back off and go to sleep._

In spite of this surprisingly rational train of thought, Keitaro still tiptoed closer to the door and put his eye up to the crack, gazing in to make sure that Motoko was sleeping comfortably. He quickly looked away, however, as he found Motoko lying peacefully on her futon with her good arm wrapped protectively around an equally peaceful Su.

_Of course,_ he thought. _She wouldn't let Motoko be alone right now. Even though she pretends a lot, Su's really a lot smarter than-_

"Hey mister Urashima, what's up?"

The only reason Keitaro did not scream like a little girl was that the low enquiry that had surprised him had come with a hand covering his mouth – as if the person that had snuck up on him knew exactly what was going to happen.

"Let's go somewhere and talk, should we?" Toshio asked lightly. "It seems like you have something on your mind."

Keitaro nodded, since that was all he could do with his mouth covered, and followed Toshio down the hall as soon as the man had released him. They made their way up to the rooftop, since that was the best place in the Sou for quiet chats, and looked up at the shining stars overhead.

Toshio rested his left hand on his sword and scratched the side of his nose with his right. "That little girl is a lot smarter than she pretends to be," he said casually. "I mean, she's obviously book smart, since she made all those machines she showed me, but she's also good with people."

"Yeah, she is," Keitaro mused. "She's a good kid."

Smiling broadly, Toshio said, "You sound very mature when you talk like that, Mister Urashima."

"R-really?"

"Uh huh."

"Thanks."

They looked at each other for a moment, and Keitaro could not help thinking that Toshio was still sizing him up, even after the time they had spent in the hospital with Motoko – and quite honestly, he was unsure of what the other man saw.

"So, umm, are you comfortable on the couch?"

Toshio nodded. "Yes, it's fine," he said calmly. "Besides, it's not like I could share a bedroom with one of your tenants, or kick you out of your bed. I'm used to sleeping in adverse conditions, Mister Urashima. Don't worry."

Keitaro turned to look up at the sky. "She's going to hurt herself, isn't she?"

"Probably," Toshio answered calmly. "She's a stubborn, willful girl who is unlikely to simply sit back and allow this to hold her back. I can easily see her banging herself against this problem until she's emotionally battered and bloody, and coming back for more until she finds a way around it, or breaks completely."

Squeezing his eyes closed, Keitaro whispered, "That's just too sad, Mister Aoyama. Isn't there something we can do?"

"Of course there is."

"What is it?"

"We can either help her back up when she falls, or try to hold her down – because believe me, Mister Urashima, she's a proud Aoyama woman… she _will not_ allow herself to fail."

Keitaro considered this as Toshio leaned up against the railing and rested his left hand on his sword hilt. _I'm sure he knows her better than I do,_ Keitaro thought, gazing at the gold band on Toshio's finger. '_A proud Aoyama woman,' huh?_ _God, what if it was me? Is there anything I care about enough to keep trying it one-handed? I'm…_ he bowed his head with sudden realization.

_I'm so average…_

Toshio stretched, yawning expansively. "Personally," he said, picking up the threads of their last conversation, "I plan to help her back up."

"Because you were told to?" Keitaro asked, making sure it did not sound like an accusation.

"Nah," Toshio said. "I was going to come when I heard about the accident anyway. Motoko's never cared all that much for me," he explained candidly. "I think, in her mind, I somehow… tainted her sister by 'stealing her' from her duties at the dojo. But I've always thought she was an immensely talented swordswoman with the potential to outclass even the head of the family, and I've always wished I could make up for the bad feeling between us. This, I suppose, is my way of trying to be a good brother."

Keitaro nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "There's something I don't quite get though."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"When you called Motoko a 'daughter' of the Aoyama clan," Keitaro said slowly, "she really got upset. How come?"

Toshio stretched his back, yawning expansively. "Women are complicated creatures, Mister Urashima," he said serenely. "I've been married for years and I still don't get them. Ahh well. Time for me to turn in. Goodnight."

Waving as the man gave him a brief salute and started for the stairs, Keitaro whispered, "Night."

Keitaro was very tired, so he never released until much later, that Toshio hadn't really answered his question.

Continued…

Pre-read was done by Hawker-748, who ever so patiently reminded me, "Dude… you can't just leave it hanging."


	4. Warsong

Disclaimer: see part 1

Fearless

Part 4 – Warsong

By Random1377

Keitaro trudged up the stairs hesitantly, apprehensive about what he was about to do. He had prepared himself mentally, but simply having a plan does not automatically give a person the courage to enact it, and Keitaro was feeling a little short in that regard—especially when he finally reached the unmarked door on the second floor and found that he was completely out of reasons to hesitate.

_Ok,_ he thought, squaring his shoulders. _I can do this. I can do this._

He raised his hand, rapping his knuckles on the door before he could find another reason to put it off.

"Come in," Motoko called, sounding oddly muffled.

Keitaro took a deep breath and pushed the door open, starting to say, 'we missed you at dinner,' but only getting as far as "We m-" before cutting himself off at finding Motoko kneeling in the middle of her floor, completely naked.

Or rather, half naked, or maybe only a quarter, since Keitaro immediately slammed his eyes shut at the first glimpse of shoulder, deciding that _any_ naked would be deemed too much for his unclean eyes. "S-sorry," he gasped as he turned to leave. "I'll just-"

"What do you need?" Motoko cut in, speaking around the binding wrap caught between her teeth.

Keitaro briefly considered extending an offer to help, but decided that he was rather fond of having his testicles attached to his body. "We… I was just wondering if you were hungry," he said awkwardly. "We missed you at dinner."

Motoko's brow was furrowed in concentration, and she did not respond immediately as she tugged the wrap with her teeth, pulling it as tight as she could get it before awkwardly reaching halfway around her body to grasp it with her left hand and wind it around her back. The entire process took quite a while, and Keitaro found an odd lump in his throat as he was filled with a conflicting combination of embarrassment and pride.

Embarrassment because he could do nothing to help. Pride because she was unwilling to let something as simple as a lack of a hand keep her from pursuing her goals.

"I'll be down in a few minutes," Motoko answered as she tucked the end of her wrap in, bearing her teeth slightly as it took her two attempts before she could make it stay. "Is that all you needed?"

Keitaro hesitated, struck once again by the fact that she was not murdering him for seeing her half undressed as she started shrugging her way into her gi. "Can… can I help or anything?" he blurted, blushing as she finally turned her (scornful) eyes his way.

"No," she said coldly, ignoring a trickle of sweat at her temple as she managed to get her injured arm through its sleeve. "The day I need _your _help dressing myself is the day I fall on my own blade." She stared at him icily as he fidgeted before repeating, "Is that all you needed?"

When Keitaro said nothing, the kendoka rose to her feet, pulling her belt around her waist and using her teeth to help cinch it tight. Again, Keitaro felt that little stab of pride and embarrassment… but this time it was tinged with just a hint of pity as an observation flashed briefly through his mind.

_That knot isn't going to stay._

He knew better than to point this out, of course. It was just one more reminder of how impotent he was when it came to helping the young swordswoman through this trial.

Motoko stood in front of him for several moments, her eyes dark and inscrutable as her lips slowly compressed, growing thinner and thinner until they all but disappeared before she finally spoke, her voice so full of contempt that Keitaro thought he could actually _feel_ it drilling into his gut.

"You're in my way."

With a start, Keitaro realized that he was standing fully in the middle of Motoko's door, blocking her in. "S-sorry," he stammered, quickly moving out of the way. "Oh, umm, Toshio said he was going to head into town and look around a little, and if you need anything he'll get it fo-"

"I can do my own shopping," Motoko snapped, gritting her teeth as the knot on her belt came undone. "God, just leave me alone, all of you!"

"Now, now," Toshio's voice rose up from the floor below, "there's no need to kill the messenger."

A moment later, the man himself appeared at the top of the stairs, smiling calmly as he glanced down at Motoko's sword.

"I see you're still wearing your blade," he said. "Would you like me to hold it? Or maybe help you with your belt?"

"Of course I'm still wearing my blade," Motoko grumbled, clearly unwilling to be as rude to Toshio as she had been to Keitaro. "Wearing it is my battlecry."

Keitaro glanced at Toshio. "What does that mean?" he asked the older man, shrugging to show that he was not familiar with the term.

"Not sure," Toshio admitted. "Must be an Aoyama thing."

Motoko looked at him as if he was stupid. "I know you weren't raised in the God's Cry," she said scornfully, "but as a member of our family, you should know what it means. You're a disciple now. Act like one."

Toshio rubbed his nose. "Maybe I was napping during that lesson," he yawned, pausing only a moment to drop Keitaro a wink before adding, "or thinking about your sister."

Keitaro winced, knowing that Motoko had a weak spot for any reminder of the reason her sister had acceded the leadership of their dojo to her younger sister. He expected the kendoka to fly off the handle, but he had to admit that he was surprised to hear that Toshio was a disciple of the God's Cry technique.

_I thought he was a member of a different school?_ he mused, looking between the estranged in-laws. _I guess… once you marry into a family, you start learning THAT technique…?_

"This is my battlecry," Motoko said bluntly, holding her sheathed weapon lengthwise in front of her and forcing Keitaro's thoughts back onto the question at hand. "This is my warsong—a declaration of battle readiness and dedication. The Aoyama creed says never give in, never give up, never, ever release your hold on your blade. Even after turning her back on the dojo and letting it fall to me, Anue remembered that much." She gave Toshio a disparaging look. "As if I would hand my sword over to you. Please don't make me laugh… it hurts my wrist."

Toshio gave her a placid smile. "I only wanted to make it easier to tie your belt," he said soothingly. "There's no need to get so worked up, Motoko-chin."

Motoko flushed indignantly. "Don't you 'chin' me, I'm not a child," she snapped, letting her sword fall back to her side as she glared up at the man. "And so help me if you call me a daughter of Aoyama again, I'll kill you with my bare hands. God's Cry teaches more than swordwork. Remember that before you insult me again."

For one terrible moment, Keitaro thought Toshio would remind the angered kendoka that she would be killing him with her bare hand, not hands, but to his relief, the older man simply inclined his head and said, "I wouldn't think of it."

Mumbling under her breath, Motoko leaned against her doorframe, using it to pin one end of her belt in place against her hip while she yanked the other half as hard as she could. The end result was that the belt tightened more than she wanted it to, pulling severely at her waist and forcing her gi to conform to her body's curves.

_A perfect hourglass._

Keitaro blushed, hoping his thoughts weren't written all over his face. If Motoko knew what he was thinking, however, she did not have a chance to kill him for it, for at that moment Kitsune appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Toshio-kun," she said in her best mock-pout, "I've been waiting for ten minutes. I thought you wanted to see the sights."

Grinning, Toshio countered, "I just asked who had the best coffee in town, Kitsune-chan… I believe the sights were your idea."

"But you didn't say no," Kitsune reminded him. "Come on, let's go!"

Motoko scowled as Kitsune turned and headed back down the stairs. "Well aren't you two cozy," she said contemptuously. "I'll bet Anue would love to hear all about it."

Toshio sighed. "Your sister told me to make friends," he said almost (but not quite) apologetically. "And Kitsune-chan is very friendly." Before Motoko could reply, he reached out and ruffled her hair, grinning as she swatted his hand away and slowly reached for her sword. "Don't worry about us, little sister… we'll behave."

Keitaro wondered if he should step in somehow, but Toshio made his exit before the landlord could do anything, leaving him standing alone with Motoko glaring after her brother-in-law with a look that could have curdled milk or caused an infant to burst into tears.

"Tramp."

Wincing, Keitaro said, "I don't think Kitsune would actually _do_ anything. I mean, she knows he's mar-"

Cutting him off, Motoko said, "I wasn't talking about Kitsune."

Without another word, she brushed past him, moving towards the stairs and heading up, rather than down. Keitaro followed her as far as the base of the stairs, but ultimately decided that she probably didn't want his company. Several moments later, he heard the now-familiar sound of Motoko's new left handed draw, followed by the young woman's grunts of efforts as she forced her muscles to learn their new roles.

He closed his eyes, though, as he heard the sound of metal crashing down on the rooftop. Obviously, Motoko's 'warsong' had slipped from her fingers, and while she didn't curse it, there was a brief pause before her grunts of effort resumed, giving Keitaro ample time to form a vivid image of her standing with unshed tears in her eyes as she glared down at the weapon, clearly frustrated with it for not doing what she wanted it to do.

_If that's her battlecry,_ he thought sadly, _it's going to be a long campaign._

( 0 0 0 )

Motoko collapsed into bed. Every muscle hurt. Every pore hurt. Every organ hurt. Every hair hurt. There was not a single inch of her body left to torture with her training, and so she lay still, panting for breath as the aching fingers of her left hand twitched and convulsed, silently begging to release the hilt of her sword and finally be allowed to rest.

Her eyes stung with sweat, and her vision doubled and tripled as she stared at the naked blade, wondering why her fingers wouldn't just let go. _They're like me,_ she thought proudly. _They're a part of me—and there isn't a single part of me willing to give up._

Except her leg muscles, which had given out an hour prior, forcing her to swing sideways as she knelt on the rooftop… and her shoulder muscles, which had shut down so abruptly that her blade had crashed down on the rooftop within inches of her ankle, nearly giving her two severed appendages to live with.

She was still not entirely sure how she had managed to stagger back to her room.

_Not enough,_ she thought angrily, _it's still not enough. The draw isn't fast enough… the swing isn't powerful enough… the parry isn't hard enough. I need more. I have to practice more._

Her fingers twitched and spasmed, but still would not obey her mental command to uncurl from the blade's hilt. What time was it, she wondered? Eleven? Midnight? Later? Her clock was on the other side of her room, and as her neck muscles were the most recent to mutiny, there was no way for her to check. The worst thing—or the best, depending on how you looked at it—was that along with the throbbing pain, Motoko imagined that even her absent right hand hurt.

_It has to be eleven thirty, at least,_ she reasoned, counting the number of swings she used to average per hour and dividing it by the time Keitaro had come to check on her after dinner. _No, wait… that's the number I used to be able to do. I'm slower now. So if I still did that number of swings, then it's… God, is it three??_

Thinking was too hard. All she wanted to do was pass out, but a soft, stealthy movement from the direction of her door caused her to tense. "Who's there?" she said, disturbed to find that her forceful demand had come out as a willowy croak. "Su, is that you?"

Whoever was in her darkened room wasn't speaking.

"Urashima, if that's you, I'll beat you until you can't see straight," she warned, trying to get her arm underneath her and finding that she couldn't even make it move. Panicking at her completely immobility, she blustered, "The same goes for you, Toshio! Whoever you are, get out of here right now!"

For a moment, all she could hear was the sound of soft, uneven breathing… then movement, padding slowly closer until a shadow darker than the others was looming over her bed.

_I'm defenseless,_ Motoko thought with a sudden chill. _I can't… I'm too weak to scream, let alone use my sword!_

It was arguably the worst moment of her life. Weak, helpless, unable to do so much as mewl for help, the former candidate for leadership of the God's Cry school was completely at the mercy of whatever the intruder felt like doing. She refused to think about what might happen next. The sheer enormity of her own powerlessness brought tears of frustration to her eyes as her mind kept going over one, maddening thought.

_I just want to die… God, why couldn't that truck have hit me in the head? What did I do to deserve this?_

She trembled as the figure knelt down next to her, clenching her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to see what he would do to her. On some level, she knew that neither Keitaro nor Toshio would do anything unsavory to her… but that was only on one level—and that level was currently inaccessible in her weakened, nearly delirious state of exhaustion.

There was also the fact that it might not _be_ Keitaro or Toshio. In the middle of the night, in a dormitory where most people forgot to lock the front door, the person in her room could have been just about anyone in the entire town—or even a random drifter, just passing through and noticing to his gleeful surprise that the girl's dorm on the hill was perfectly accessible to anyone with a fractured psyche and a pair of soft soled shoes.

A weak moan escaped her as tentative hands began pulling her fingers away from her sword's hilt, one by one. She tried to will them to stay in place, but her rebellious muscles were all too thankful to be given new instructions. Within moments, her hand was empty and her blade was being pushed ever so carefully out of her range.

_Please just make it quick…_

Motoko shuddered, feeling betrayed by her own thoughts. If she had both hands, would she _ever_ have surrendered to what was about to happen to her? Not a chance in hell! She would have forced herself up and used every ounce of her strength to kick, claw, or bite the intruder, making sure that whatever pleasure he took from her was tempered by scars and broken bones.

Now… now she was just too tired.

Water, cool and wonderful, was trickled onto her lips. It was only a few drops, but it was enough to make Motoko realize just how dehydrated she was. She licked her lips, dismayed to find them cracked and ragged, and collected those precious drops before they could run down onto the bed. After a moment, a hand was eased under the back of her neck, and her head was lifted up. A cup was placed against her mouth, and without questioning what was in it, Motoko parted her lips and drank, choking and spluttering as half of the sip went down the wrong way. The cup was pulled back until she regained control of her breathing, and when it was returned, Motoko drank the whole thing without pausing.

She opened her eyes, blinking in the dark as she tried to focus on the person kneeling at her side.

"Kei…taro…?"

There was a shudder in the arm holding her up, but when there was no reply, Motoko decided that it really didn't matter. She was too tired, and wondering took too much effort. There was a soft clicking sound as the cup was set down, and her visitor gently covered her eyes and eased her head back onto her futon. Motoko shivered as the hand over her eyes was replaced by a cool, wet washcloth, drawing some of the frantic heat out of her body and making it easier for her to think.

Whoever was with her (she felt like it was Keitaro, regardless of the fact that he would not speak) gently loosened her belt, but did not untie it, choosing instead to leave her with her modesty. Slowly, her twitching arms were lifted off the bed and placed comfortably on her stomach, with her left arm supporting her injured one.

In spite of the fact that it was meant to be comforting and tender, Motoko felt chilled. With her arms crossed, and the washcloth over her eyes like a veil… she imagined herself looking like a corpse, waiting for burial, and she vowed that no matter what, she would perfect her left handed technique and show everyone from her smug brother-in-law to her unnecessarily concerned housemates that she was not in need of their protection.

_In the morning,_ she told herself, no longer aware of the room around her as her hair was gently pulled out from under the washcloth and brushed back from her sweat-streaked forehead. _I'll get back on track… in the morning._

As she slipped almost instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep, Keitaro continued to stroke her hair with one hand, using the other to swipe away the tears of frustration and guilt that continued to leak from his eyes as he asked himself over and over if this was really all he could do.

Late in the morning, when Motoko opened her bleary, tired eyes, the only evidence that it had not been a dream was the barely damp washcloth, and the empty plastic cup.

Continued…

Hawker-748 pre-read this overly delayed chapter and helped pull back some of the angst and self loathing that permeated it. Trust me, it was _way_ worse.


	5. Unrelenting

Disclaimer: see part 1

Fearless

Part 5 – Unrelenting

By Random1377

They didn't talk about the events of that night. Sometimes, Keitaro almost wished they would so they wouldn't have to dance around each other. Or more accurately, so Keitaro wouldn't have to dance around Motoko, since she was almost never around, and when she was, she didn't seem to see him.

She started to lose weight—and on a girl with her frame, this was not a good thing.

"She's just determined to get back into the swing of things," he told Naru when she pointed it out, trying not to notice how loose Motoko's gi was.

"She's killing herself," Naru had countered bluntly. "You have to make her stop practicing."

But Keitaro thought it would have been easier to stop a hurricane than get in Motoko's path. For a week after her talk with Toshio about battlecries and warsongs, Motoko was up by dawn, and in bed after midnight… and nearly every minute was spent doing some form of training. It was not all physical, of course—no matter how determined a person is, the human body has its limits—but it was clear by her thinning frame that far more of it was physical than really should be.

She studied books on tactics, scrolls on form, and endless papers on sword techniques—some downloaded from the internet, some retrieved from the library, those these last were usually gathered by Motoko's faithful helper, Su, who seemed to think nothing of assisting the kendo-ka in her slow, laborious suicide.

For this is what Keitaro came to think of it as, and considering the fact that just about everyone else in the Sou agreed, he found it dishearteningly appropriate. Only Toshio seemed unconcerned by the young woman's behavior, and replied to any commentary on the subject with a shrug and wry, 'That's an Aoyama for you.'

It was through an extraordinary set of circumstances that the swordswoman actually had to leave the house, though it would be more appropriate to say it was a case of bad timing.

She came down the stairs one afternoon and nearly ran directly into Keitaro. Then, without preamble, she said, "Where is Naru?"

"Ummm, she went out," Keitaro said, finding that he couldn't quite meet her eyes. "To a movie, I think. Kitsune and Shinobu went with."

"Damn it," Motoko growled. "Haruka?"

"In town, paying the lease on the tea house."

"Damn it!"

Tentatively, Keitaro said, "Is there something I can do…?"

Motoko ground her teeth together. "No," she said sharply. "It's not something you would understand."

"How about me?" Toshio asked, popping up almost magically from the sofa. "Is it something swordy?"

Looking as if she would rather be dead, Motoko spat, "It's not something that a _male_ would understand. Is that clear enough?"

Keitaro and Toshio exchanged a glance… then Keitaro turned bright red and stammered, "O-oh, it's… I see."

"Yes, it's that," Motoko said crossly. "I need supplies. I'm going out to buy them."

Toshio was at her side in an instant.

"I'll be joining you," he said smoothly. "Don't bother arguing. My commitment is to your sister, and she wished me to remain at your side. Case closed."

It took a man who knew both women (such as Keitaro) to truly appreciate Toshio's bravery at that point. Then again, he had to wonder what it was about Tsuruko that made her will more compelling than the deathly glare of her premenstrual younger sister.

With a shiver, he decided that maybe he didn't really want to know.

"I-I'm coming too," Keitaro said, summoning up his courage as Motoko turned her baleful gaze his way. "We're almost out of toilet paper."

It was a lie, but a quickly calculated one.

Motoko, he knew, wouldn't want to go without _that_… not at that time of the month.

"Fine," the swordswoman snarled. "I'm leaving now."

She was halfway down the stairs of the Sou by the time Keitaro had his shoes on, so he had to run to catch up to her.

"Great day for a walk," Toshio commented, seemingly oblivious to Motoko's venomous look. "Nice and bright." He inhaled deeply. "And smell that air. Beautiful day, beautiful day."

Keitaro admired the man's cool. As for himself, he had taken great care to position himself with Motoko on the far side of her brother in law.

Just to be safe.

"Honestly," Motoko was mumbling as they rounded the corner. "I don't need a babysitter, let alone two. As much time as you two spend together, maybe you should start dat-oof!"

She stumbled back, wincing as Toshio caught her.

"Hey!" she shouted, glaring at the thuggish looking man who had run into her. "Watch where you're going!"

"You ran into me," the man returned in a gruff, gravelly voice. "So shut up."

Motoko's eyes narrowed to slits as she pushed herself off of Toshio's chest. "Apologize," she demanded. "You weren't looking when you came around the corner. Apologize, I said!"

"What are you going to do about it, Lefty?" the thug snorted. "Maybe you could-"

Motoko was starting to move, reaching for her practice sword to teach the man a lesson, but before she could, Keitaro was at her side, his face a mask of rage… his fist connecting with the other man's chin.

"Ahh!"

The manager cried out, clutching his hand as the other man reeled and went down on his ass, more from surprise at the unexpected shot than the actual force of it. "You little punk! I'll kill-"

Silence fell as Toshio's blade eased under the man's chin. "Sir," Tsuruko's husband said politely, "please accept my apologies for my young friend's actions. If you could see your way clear to forgiving us, we'll be on our way. Agreed?"

Though the man's eyes were filled with rage, he seemed to be fully aware that the sword at his throat was _not_ a toy. "Wh-whatever," he growled, pushing himself upright and glaring at the trio with undisguised malice. "I'll be seeing you around, punk," he said to Keitaro.

As he made his retreat, Motoko turned to Keitaro… and slapped him in the face.

"Never," she hissed, her voice trembling with impotent fury, "_never_ again, do you hear me?"

Keitaro nodded, feeling a trickle of real, mortal fear at the girl's rage.

When she turned on her heel and stalked off towards the store, he made no attempt to follow her.

( 0 0 0 )

The doctors said it was a minor fracture, but that he shouldn't put too much pressure on it, just to give it time to heal. It hadn't even taken a cast—just a tight bandage and a prescription of painkillers in case the aching got worse. Keitaro did not fill it. He felt like he needed to feel the pain to remind him of just how stupidly he had behaved.

The other residents had been lied to, of course. Motoko's glare over the dinner plates had been enough to ensure that neither he nor Toshio copped to the fact that Keitaro had stood up for her honor.

Shinobu had excused him from cleaning up, even though it was his turn.

Somehow, this made Keitaro feel even worse.

"Busy day, huh?" Toshio mused as Keitaro wandered through the living room on his way to bed. "I think you saved that guy's life, though… nice work."

Keitaro rubbed his hand, muttering a simple, "Thanks."

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should ask the older man what was really on his mind about their encounter. Ultimately, it was the wrapping on his hand (so much like Motoko's bindings) that prompted him to speak.

"Why did she go for her blade, Mister Aoyama? She wouldn't have been able to do much to him left-handed, so why even try at all? Why is she pushing herself so… so hard? She has to know what she's doing to her body."

"People are like that, Mister Urashima," Toshio said, stretching on the couch and lacing his hands behind his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. "It's one of the universal truths: you can't change someone else's mind. Oh, you can try. You can give them facts, and you can try to persuade them… but ultimately, the choice of whether to listen to you is up to them—and there's nothing you can do about it."

Keitaro looked at the floor. "Even if they _know_ that what they're doing might kill them?"

There was a long, heavy silence before Toshio softly whispered, "_Especially_ if they know that what they're doing might kill them."

"Th-that can't be true," Keitaro stammered. "Motoko would never-"

"Keitaro."

"What?"

"…it's time you recognized the fact that the Motoko you knew is gone."

The Hinata Sou's manager slumped against the wall, his breath leaving him in a rush as the older man's words plowed into him like a fist. "No," he said hoarsely, "you're wrong. She's not gone she's… she's just lost—and she'll never find her way if we give up on her!"

A faint smile played around Toshio's lips. "That's pretty philosophical, Mister Urashima," he said lightly. "But it still avoids addressing my basic point, which is quite simply: what if she doesn't want to find her way?"

"And I said it's not like that!" Keitaro shot back. "Motoko's not… she wouldn't… it's not like that!"

"Very eloquent, Mister Urashima."

Flushing, Keitaro slowly straightened himself. "I don't like you," he said flatly. "I can't… I can't believe you would just give up on someone you're supposed to care about. I could never do that. Never."

Toshio yawned. "You should do something about that temper of yours, Mister Urashima," he said dismissively. "Could get you in trouble one day. Oh wait… it already has, hasn't it."

"Tell me something."

"Shoot."

Keitaro gathered himself, trying his best to keep from punching Toshio, too. "Tell me what the difference is between a daughter and a sister."

Closing his eyes, Toshio said, "I can't do that, Keitaro. Sorry, but it isn't my place."

"Whose is it then?"

Toshio shrugged, but said nothing.

Stiffly, Keitaro made his way out of the room, not bothering to say goodbye. Behind him, Toshio let out a slow, deep sigh, his brow furrowing slightly as he listened to the sound of the manager's retreating footsteps.

"Sorry kid," he murmured, opening his eyes and pulling himself into a sitting position. "Some things you just have to find out for yourself."

Continued…

Hawker-748 pre-read this chapter and made some excellent suggestions on how it could be improved. Thanks man!


	6. Leavetaking

Disclaimer: see part 1

Fearless

Part 6 – Leave-Taking

By Random1377

Kitsune watched closely as Keitaro carefully placed a few things inside his backpack, never looking up from his task as she said, "So you're putting _me_ in charge?"

"It's only for a few days," Keitaro said, adding two undershirts and zipping the pack closed, "five at the most, I think, I'm not really sure."

Snorting, Kitsune muttered, "You could be more vague, but I'm not sure how. Did you pack your secret decoder ring? Got your invisible ink?"

Keitaro shrugged. "I don't really know why I'm going," he explained, "so I can't explain any more."

"Again, you're trusting _me_ with this dump?" Kitsune briskly rubbed her hands together. "Get ready for chaos, Keitaro—empty bank accounts, house in ruins, babies crying in the streets… yes, I'll find babies and make them cry, just so you can hear it when you get home."

She paused in her gloating as Keitaro shouldered his backpack and gave her a small, enigmatic smile.

"What?" she demanded. "You don't think I'll trash this place the second you leave? Hell, I'm even thinking of starting a brothel while you're gone—what do you think of that? 'The Kitsune Sou' kinda has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Keitaro slipped his thumbs under his backpack's straps and stepped past her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes as he whispered, "I trust you, Kitsune…"

The effect was satisfying.

Kitsune rested her back against the doorframe and covered her face with both hands. "God I hate you," she moaned, peeking at him through her fingers. "Why would you trust me? I'm a drunken slacker who only cares about money… I really can't handle this place on my own."

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Keitaro squeezed, waiting until she moved her hands out of the way and met his eyes before speaking. "I trust you," he repeated simply. "I know you would never do anything to hurt anyone that lives here, and out of all the girls, you're the best with other people's money." Giving her a rueful smile, he added, "Maybe not the best with your own, but if it's everyone else's, I think we're in good hands. And I really will be back soon—I promise."

The gray-haired girl stared at him unblinkingly for a moment before suddenly leaning forward and pressing her lips to his cheek in a quick, fleeting kiss. "For good luck," she said as he gaped at her. "Good luck for you for whatever you're doing and good luck for me to keep me from burning the place down."

"Th-thanks," Keitaro stammered, putting a hand on his cheeks and quickly averting his eyes, "I'm sure everything will work out."

"At least one of us is."

As Keitaro left, Kitsune looked around his little apartment. This certainly wasn't what she had in mind when he asked her to come see him (her first thought was that she had finally gotten far enough behind in the rent for him to actually do something about it), but she had to admit, the man had a way of getting things done when he set his mind to it

_Imagine me taking care of this place,_ she thought wonderingly. _But I guess… who else would, right? Naru's too mixed up over the whole Motoko thing. Motoko's too messed up over, well, the whole Motoko thing. Su? Shinobu? Yeah, neither one of them can handle their own allowance, let alone a whole dorm._

She wondered briefly why Haruka couldn't do it, until she reminded herself that the elder Urashima might have helped in a pinch, but she would have squeezed Keitaro for details before letting him go, and from the urgency in his tone, Kitsune guessed that time was of the essence.

So there she stood, suddenly in charge of the wellbeing of five other girls and one cute visitor swordsman.

"Down girl," she whispered as her mind turned to thoughts of the aforementioned visitor. "Married man, married man, married man."

Which was not to say that she could not imagine what it would be like to have those powerful arms around her, or those rough looking lips crashing into hers. _My, my,_ she thought, _SOMEONE'S got herself a cru-_

Turning to go, she nearly ran into Naru.

"Oh," the other girl exclaimed, coming up short as they narrowly avoided colliding. "Hey, I need to have Keitaro nail down that loose board in the hallway. Shinobu tripped on it and almost fell on her- hey, where _is_ Keitaro anyway?"

Kitsune decided there was no better time than the present to break the news. "He's gone." Seeing panic starting to light in her friend's eyes, she quickly clarified, "For a couple of days, for a couple of days!"

Naru blinked, calming immediately before flushing a brilliant red. "L-like I'd care if that idiot left forever," she huffed. "Get real."

"I would," Kitsune said suddenly, catching Naru totally off guard. "Admit it, since he got here… it's been really fun."

Pursing her lips, Naru said, "If that's the word you want to use, I guess."

Though she was not really ready for the argument, Kitsune still found herself sticking up for the absentee manager—possibly, she reasoned later, due to his implicitly stated trust in her ability to take care of the Sou. "I'd be sad if he left," she said. "He's really-"

"You're acting weird," Naru cut in suddenly. "What's with you?"

The air left Kitsune's sails.

"He left me in charge."

Naru stared at her for a moment in complete silence.

_Here it comes,_ Kitsune thought. _'He put YOU in charge?' will come first. Or maybe something like, 'Is he insane? I'll kick his ASS!' It's just a matter of seconds before she goes completely, utterly ballistic!_

Kitsune was actually looking forward too it. If Naru made _too_ big off a fuss, maybe Kitsune could turn the tables and get _her_ to watch after the place. Finally, Naru took a deep breath.

_Here we go!_

"Oh," she said indifferently, "well, that loose board in the hall needs to be nailed down, and there's a bulb that's burned out in the attic. See ya."

"W-what?" Kitsune stammered. "Doesn't this bother you? Aren't you mad he didn't choose you? Aren't you going to freak out and tell me I can't handle it?"

Naru blinked, then shrugged and turned away.

"I trust you."

Kitsune slumped against Keitaro's door as her oldest friend took her leave. _Huh,_ she thought. _And people wonder why I drink…_

( 0 0 0 )

"Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!"

Again and again the blade cut the air, whistling briskly as Motoko ran through her katas one-handed. Her shoulder was burning with fatigue (and had been for at least a half hour) but she wasn't going to stop until she was satisfied that her swing was perfect.

Every slice made her body howl. Every gasp was an exclamation of agony.

Motoko welcomed it all. _Bastard,_ she thought bitterly, completely unaware of the moisture running down her cheeks… though if she had been, she would have violently argued that it was sweat, not tears. _Sticking up for me… making a fool of us both… BASTARD! I don't need you, damn it! I can take care of—DAMN IT!_

Unable to support her even a moment longer, Motoko's right knee bent, sending her to the ground with a muffled crash. The blade spun from her hand, whickering end over end to bury itself in one of the wooden posts that supported the railing on the roof. It hummed for a moment, shaking with the impact, before going still and simply waiting for its master to retrieve it.

"Hah… hah… hah… hah…"

She couldn't even berate him in person. Keitaro, she had been informed, had left the Sou on some mysterious mission that involved an overnight stay. Not that she cared if she ever saw him again, of course—not after what he had done to her honor!

Abruptly, she vomited, losing her meager, warrior's dinner as her exhausted body struggled to cool down.

"What a… joke…" she panted, wiping her mouth with her sleeve as she rolled onto her back. "Can't even…"

She trailed off, her eyes on the stars. Tears continued to roll down her face as she allowed some _very_ foreign thoughts into her head.

Keitaro would have made a great swordsman. He was kind, caring, and even if he was a bit perverted his sense of justice was strong, and he was surprisingly brave when his friends were in danger.

Motoko hated herself for even _thinking_ these things, but seeing as how her body was in mid-rebellion, she had nothing better to do than contemplate.

Oh how she hated him.

All of those attributes (perversity aside) she craved. It was supposed to be _her_ standing up for the weak and disabled, not him—and definitely not him standing up for _her_ of all people! She was the one who was just, not him! She was an Aoyama sister (not a daughter, damn it!) and she was _not_ going to be relegated to the role of cowering invalid.

Not by Keitaro, or anyone else!

"Ahhhh!"

Rolling onto her stomach, Motoko forced herself back upright, tottering for a moment before regaining her balance. Carefully, she made her way over to her blade, wrenching it free of the wood and straightening her back with a miserable groan as several of her muscles shrieked in protest.

"Aoyama women are soldiers," she groaned, willing her blurry eyes to focus on her sword. "Aoyama women do not back down. Aoyama women do not take no for an answer. Aoyama women are strong, powerful, uncompromising, and fierce. Aoyama women are fearless."

She didn't feel fearless.

"Shut up," she whispered, holding her blade out to the side and closing her eyes tightly to avoid seeing how badly it was shaking. "Just shut up!"

Her traitorous mind did not listen, whispering that—as far as _it_ was concerned—she was about as far from being fearless as Kitsune was from being a model citizen.

"Shut…_up!_"

Inverting her blade, Motoko drove it forward, burying it in the Hinata Sou's rooftop… and snapping it cleanly in two as the awkward angle forced the metal to twist in a direction it was never meant to twist.

Motoko went down hard, catching herself on her left hand and letting the hilt of her blade fall to the roof as she fell towards the broken half of her sword. She landed with her throat mere inches from the sword, her pulse racing wildly as her fatigue was blasted away by adrenaline, leaving her shaking from head to toe as she pushed off with her hand and rolled to the side, landing with a wince on her ribs and knocking the breath from her lungs.

Her eyes never left the gleaming edge of the naked blade.

"Ha…" she laughed, throwing her head back as the air rattled in her lungs. "See? _See?_"

Hysterically, she laughed, tears streaming unheeded from her eyes as she found her will to live healthy and strong. Never once did she think it would be better to land on the blade. Never once did she contemplate slashing her own wrists on its razor sharp surface.

Death would not have her. Not yet—and it would _never_ have her by her own hand.

Ever.

She slept on the rooftop that night, waking well past dawn to cramping muscles and another round of heaving… but she never complained.

Motoko Aoyama was alive, not just existing, and if anyone could find a way to make her family see that the God's Cry style could be adapted to a one-handed fighting technique, it would be her!

It never occurred to her just how big of an 'if' that really was.

Continued…

Pre-read was by Hawker-748, who made some great suggestions on how to remove some of the suck from the story.


	7. Mothers, Daughters, Sisters, Brothers

Disclaimer: see part 1

Fearless

Part 7 – Mothers, Daughters, Sisters, Brothers

By Random1377

The God's Cry school is, as any of its students can tell you, not something that any of its students will talk to you about. To put it another way—it's supposed to be a secret.

Looking up at the impressive doors of the dojo, Keitaro wondered how such an imposing structure _could_ be a secret. It sat on a small mountaintop. It dominated the eye from every direction. It imposed its shadow on the local area, and it was talked about openly in the streets as 'the school of the protectors,' so it wasn't really what Keitaro would consider subtle.

But try getting anyone to cop to who was in charge, and suddenly he was asking to be given a private viewing of the Klopman Diamond.

And it didn't even exist.

"Nothing else to do but go for it," the manager whispered to himself, gripping the straps on his backpack with both hands and squaring his shoulders as he marched up to the double doors.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he reached out and knocked on the hard surface of the right hand door, bracing himself for the worst as he stepped back and waited at a respectful distance.

He tensed as a smaller door (unseen at first) within the larger door opened a crack. "Excuse me," he said quickly, "I'm looking for Tsuruko Aoyama."

It was a gamble, he knew, but hers was the only name he could really drop, and he knew from Motoko that her older sister was being forced to replace her as the next successor of the school since Motoko was no longer able to continue it herself.

"Who are you?"

Keitaro shifted from one foot to the other, unnerved by the fact that he could not see his questioner. "My name is Urashima," he began, "Keit-"

The door slammed shut.

"…aro Urashima."

_Huh,_ he thought, blinking at the doors for a moment in total confusion. _Guess they already know me._

He was wondering what his next move should be when the small door slowly opened, revealing… Motoko—or rather, an older, more striking version of Motoko, complete with the same white gi and mane of flowing, silken black hair.

"Mister Urashima," she said, acting as if she had _not_ just slammed a door in his face. "I am Tsuruko Aoyama. Please come in."

"Er… thanks."

Wondering if maybe he wasn't making a _huge_ mistake, Keitaro stepped through the door, his eyes taking in the grounds as Tsuruko closed the door behind him.

"It's very… green here," he said lamely, looking around at all the trees surrounding the main compound.

"Serenity is a keyword in the God's Cry school," Tsuruko muttered, brushing past him and heading for another small door at the far end of the courtyard. "Serenity breeds balance. In here, Mister Urashima."

Keitaro stepped through the door, blinking as he found himself in a small practice room. Tsuruko followed him in, closing the door behind her and walked over to the far wall, where she stood with her arms behind her back and her eyes carefully averted.

"My sister is… well?" the kendo-ka asked hesitantly, clearly struggling to keep her voice level.

Clearing his throat, Keitaro said, "She's pushing herself very hard, Miss Aoyama. I'm worried about her."

Tsuruko nodded as if she had been expecting this. "Motoko has always been very driven," she mused. "I take it she still refuses to give up on her training?"

"That's right."

"Ah."

For a moment, Keitaro considered Tsuruko's profile, taken with the similarity between her and her younger sister. _You can see the difference, though,_ he thought. _Her age is starting to show around her eyes._

"You came here for a reason," Tsuruko said abruptly. "Speak your mind, Mister Urashima."

Squaring his shoulders, Keitaro said, "I only have one question, Miss Aoyama."

"Mrs. Aoyama," Tsuruko corrected sharply. "And you may feel free to ask me anything, so long as you understand that God's Cry has certain rules and regulations. If I deem your question unreasonable or outrageous, I will ask you to leave."

"G-got it…"

Keitaro drew a deep breath, going over a dozen phrasings in his mind and discarding them all as either too blunt, too confrontational, or too vague.

_I don't have a choice,_ he thought suddenly. _If I don't say it clearly, she won't answer clearly. God, I hate martial artists._

"Please tell me why Motoko is angry that she's being called a Daughter of Aoyama."

Tsuruko tensed, and Keitaro had the distinct impression that she had not seen this question coming.

_Did she think I was going to beg her to take Motoko back?_ he thought, deducing that this was, in fact, what Tsuruko had anticipated.

Keeping her eyes averted, Tsuruko said, "It's because it is a title no warrior wishes bestowed on them. Motoko only seeks sisterhood. To be called daughter is a… well, it is not a compliment to most of those who know its meaning."

Keitaro took a chance and asked the next logical question.

"Ok, then what _is _a sister? In the Aoyama Clan, I mean."

"A… sister is someone you can rely on," Tsuruko began uncomfortably. "A sister stands by you and supports you with her heart and her sword, never backing down no matter what opposition she may have to face at your side. She is your strength and pride—another pair of hands, if you need her to be—willing to do anything and everything, even die… just for you."

Keitaro digested all of this information, wondering if anyone in the world could live up to this high standard. _But what's the other side of the coin?_ he wondered.

"And a daughter?"

Tsuruko opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a voice behind Keitaro said, "A daughter is weak and powerless before the evils of the world, Mister Urashima."

Keitaro turned around, his eyes widening as he found a rather short woman of advancing years standing behind him. She wore the same style of gi as Tsuruko, though rather than a single sword at her hip, he could see the hilts of two smaller blades jutting over each of the woman's shoulders. Her white-streaked black hair was gathered up in a single ponytail that fell to the middle of her back, and from the iron in her eyes, Keitaro rightly presumed that she was not a woman to be trifled with.

"Daughters," the woman continued bluntly, "are the reason the God's Cry school exists. It is our duty to protect those unable to protect themselves."

"Mother," Tsuruko said quietly, "I didn't know you were home."

Striding past Keitaro, the woman approached her daughter. "I've only just returned, Tsuruko," she said coolly. "Perhaps you can enlighten me, though, on the reasons you might be telling a stranger in my house all of our ways and customs."

Tsuruko bristled, and Keitaro could tell that it was hard for her to be talked to in this fashion. "He asked, mother," she replied, "and I was unaware that it had become one of our customs to obscure the truth."

The head of the Aoyama clan pursed her lips. "You are excused, Tsuruko," she said flatly. "I will finish this."

From the tone in her voice, Keitaro guessed that the woman was not used to being disobeyed. This notion was confirmed as Tsuruko gave a diffident bow and slipped out of the room, keeping her eyes submissively downcast even as her hands balled up into fists at her sides.

"Now, Mister Urashima," the woman said imperiously, "this is the part of our meeting where I tell you how things are going to be, and you stand there without interrupting. You are a guest in my house—Tsuruko has already invited you in—and that entitles you to my hospitality, but as an outsider, you already know more than you rightly should." Folding her arms over her small breasts, she looked Keitaro up and down, as if trying to decide if she found him merely irritating, or downright disgusting. "Feel free to rest and bathe," she said levelly. "We dine at seven sharp. You are welcome to join us at our table, and I will have a room prepared for you if you wish to stay the night."

Rising to her full height, she drew in a deep breath and concluded, "The matters of Clan Aoyama are not for outsiders to understand, but since you have come all of this way, I will tell you this: all of the succession techniques of the God's Cry school are two handed. It is impossible, literally impossible, for Motoko to continue studying our way. The real question you wanted to ask has now been answered. Dinner is at seven. Good afternoon, Mister Urashima."

Keitaro nodded, feeling dazed as the woman brushed past him and walked out of the room, leaving him alone to contemplate all that she had told him.

( 0 0 0 )

Until the day he died, Keitaro would never again have such a stiff, uncomfortable dinner. Motoko's mother barely acknowledged him, let alone spoke to him, and he was sure that the term 'hospitality' had never been stretched to such a degree than at that solemn, ice cold dinner table.

His sleep was restless, though his accommodations were comfortable enough, and he woke well before dawn with nothing further to do but pack and go back home. Kitsune, at least, would be happy to see him.

How unfortunate that he was not happy to see his reflection staring bleary-eyed and defeated at him from the mirror's depths as wondered just what he had gained in coming to that accursed place to begin with.

"Mister Urashima."

Keitaro did not need the mirror to show him who had come (silently) into his room. "Mrs. Aoyama," he said, remembering Tsuruko's insistence on being addressed properly. "G-good morning."

Inclining her head slightly, Tsuruko said, "Do not think too poorly of us. There is… much you would have to understand to know why things are the way they are."

Though he knew it was a remarkably bad idea, Keitaro still found himself saying, "I don't want to understand. I don't think I _can_ understand how… how you could not _love_ your own daughter enough to even give her some kind of comfort or hope."

"It is not a lack of love, Mister Urashima," Tsuruko said in a pained voice. "It is an overabundance of love. Motoko will drive herself to madness, if she is left unchecked. I will do _anything_ in my power to see that she is spared that fate. Is that clear, Mister Urashima? Any… thing."

"Anything besides give her the only thing she wants."

Tsuruko's voice evened out as she whispered, "The one thing she wants is the one thing beyond my power to give. Convince her to give up, Mister Urashima. Please. Sometimes… sometimes it's better to let hope die early than to keep it alive only to see it crushed."

"That's-"

The creaking of his bedroom door was the only indication that Keitaro was, once again, alone.

To be concluded…


	8. Fearless

Disclaimer: see part 1

Fearless

Part 8 – Fearless

By Random1377

"You're home!"

Keitaro was taken off of his feet—literally—as he came through the door to the Sou, falling on his back with the entire weight of one very curvaceous resident bearing him down onto the floor in the foyer.

"Hello… Kitsune…" he managed to gasp, stars dancing in his vision as the woman hugged him unmercifully. "Is anything wrong?"

Instantly, Kitsune was her old self.

"There's a loose board in the hall," the gray-haired woman said brightly, pushing herself up on her palms so she could smile down into the manager's face. "But there's still a hall, right? Nothing burned down! …well, unless you count that pan I ruined when I tried to make hot sake, but that could happen to anyone, don't you think? I mean it's hardly my fault that there wasn't a label on it saying 'don't leave on the stove overnight' or something like that, you know what I'm saying? I mean it's like-"

"Kitsune…"

"Hmm?"

"Could you move your knee…?"

"Eep!"

Keitaro let a sigh of relief as the aforementioned knee was removed from his groin. "Thanks."

Sitting back, Kitsune brushed the front of her shirt, trying to look as if nothing had happened as she said, "Anyway, everything's fine here. Where did you go?"

Before Keitaro could answer, Motoko came down the stairs… and his heart clenched in his chest.

"Hello, Keitaro."

"H-hi, Motoko…"

_She looks… awful._

Awful, he realized, didn't really cut it. The kendo-ka looked like hell—or like she had _been_ to Hell. Though it had only been a few days, Motoko had visibly lost weight around her face and neck, giving her a gaunt look, and her skin seemed too tight to Keitaro… like she was slowly, unknowingly dehydrating.

He knew better than to let it show on his face, though. The last thing he needed was to have her goaded into trying _harder_ than she already was.

"Is, umm, is that a new sword?"

Motoko glanced down at the blade in question. "It's an extra that I was keeping in the closet," she said neutrally. "My other one… was damaged."

"Oh."

"Ahh, the prodigal manager returns!"

Keitaro glanced down the hall as Toshio, Naru, and the rest of the residents came into the room, giving Motoko a wide berth—except for Su, who immediately ran up to the kendo-ka and climbed her like an spider monkey in search of a banana.

"Hi everyone," the manager said, getting his story straight in his mind. "Sorry I had to leave so suddenly. I got a letter in the mail that said I had to go to Hokkaido to pick up some of the stuff I had forgotten at a hotel I was staying at or they were going to throw it away."

This explanation was met with some skepticism until he added a further note of clarification.

"It was from when I ran away after failing the last exam."

It made him feel cheap to bring his most recent freakout up, especially with Motoko's situation, but the ploy worked. Some awkward glances were exchanged, and everyone began to move away, going back to whatever they were doing before he had returned.

Motoko, he could see, was going back up the stairs for more training.

As she rose to her feet, Kitsune murmured, "Later on, you're gonna tell me the truth."

Keitaro paled as she walked away. Her tone indicated that this was _not_ a request.

Wetting his lips, he called out to Motoko, thankful that everyone but Toshio was gone as he said, "Don't work too hard."

As he had known she would, Motoko came up short and turned to look over her shoulder, murmuring, "I'll do as I please, Urashima… I _will_ return to God's Cry."

Toshio, who had been subtly lingering by the door to the living room, cleared his throat, but said nothing more.

"I _will!_" Motoko reiterated fiercely, eyes glittering as she rounded on her brother-in-law. "No one is going to stop me!"

Resting a hand on his sword hilt, the swordsman let out a deep sigh. "There is _no_ way to return," Toshio said softly. "None, sister."

Keitaro felt a moment of déjà vu… and in his mind, a connection was made.

_Sister?_

"Your sword," Keitaro blurted suddenly, pushing himself to his feet as he stared at the swordsman with new, clear eyes. "Your sword is shorter that Motoko's. How come?"

For a brief moment, he was sure that a look of triumph flashed over Toshio's face, but he dismissed the idea as the older man nonchalantly said, "My family's school teaches a different technique than God's Cry."

Motoko seemed to be picking up on the vibe in the room as she closed her mouth and watched the exchange with narrowed, curious eyes.

"Is it a… one-handed technique?" Keitaro asked softly, keeping his eyes on Toshio as Motoko drew a sharp, stunned breath.

"…it is."

Slowly, Keitaro offered Toshio the house keys still clutched absently in his hand… and felt a violent, spinning sensation of dizziness as the older man reached out to take them with his left hand.

"My God…"

The air was charged as Toshio nodded in confirmation, turning his attention to Motoko as she took a trembling step towards him, her eyes feverish with understanding as she stared at his hand.

_Left-handed,_ Keitaro thought deliriously, _one-handed… her sister sent him to watch out for her… her sister… Tsuruko—she said she would do anything for her sister… oh god, Tsuruko, if you weren't married I'd hop on a train and come kiss you!_

"Is there something you wish to ask, Sister of Aoyama?"

Toshio's voice was so tender that Keitaro nearly burst into tears, and he was at Motoko's side in an instant, supporting her as her knees wobbled and threatened to give way.

"Your school," she asked brokenly. "Do they accept… female students…?"

Smiling warmly, Toshio said, "They do."

"And… and would they accept a fifth dan student of another discipline?"

"…they would."

Motoko's knees buckled, forcing Keitaro to catch her as she began to cry.

"M-may I… will you… bring me into your school…?"

Lowering his eyes, Toshio whispered, "That depends, Motoko."

Barely daring to breathe, Motoko asked, "On?"

"It depends on one question: do you love God's Cry, or do you love the blade…?"

Motoko's throat clicked when she swallowed. "I love both," she whispered, blinking hard as tears began to pour more freely from her eyes. "…but I love the blade more. It's… it's all I've ever known—all I ever _want_ to know. If I have to choose… I choose the blade."

Toshio nodded as if he had expected nothing less, and in one swift movement he drew his sword. Driving it deep into the floor in front of Motoko, he said, "The blade is everything. That is your first lesson… if a lesson is what you seek." He paused, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade. "You're sure this is what you want, then…?"

Reaching out with her remaining hand, Motoko placed her palm on the back of Toshio's hand. "'The blade is everything,'" she intoned, looking up into her brother-in-law's eyes with her tears running unchecked down her face. "Please teach this humble student."

Keitaro thought he might actually choke on the lump in his throat as Toshio gave Motoko a warm smile. "I'll do my best," the swordsman said. "Now please," his voice became gentle, "get some sleep before you kill yourself, alright? I'll come back in four days to start your training."

"Why four?" Motoko asked, her voice still husky with emotion as she stared wonderingly at Toshio's blade. "Can't we start sooner?"

The smile on Toshio's lips turned ironic. "Loose ends," he said wryly. "Certain… individuals won't be happy with this turn of events."

Thinking of Chiharu's frigid stare, Keitaro shivered.

As Toshio turned to go, he cleared his throat.

"Mister Urashima," he said, keeping his back to them as he spoke. "I… leave the rest to you."

Keitaro glanced at Motoko, catching her unprepared and reading all too easily the expression on her face as her brother took his leave.

"Your sister must love you very much," Keitaro observed, watching the door Toshio had walked through with an expression admiration and regret.

Motoko nodded. "Of course," she whispered, dabbing discretely at her eyes as she tried to get herself under control. "She… she really does, doesn't she?"

"Yeah."

They fell silent for a moment, each considering the ramifications of Tsuruko sending Toshio to take care of Motoko, knowing full well what the outcome would be. _Thank you,_ Keitaro thought, _thank you for giving her a chance. I guess I know what my part is…_

"Keitaro."

"Hmm?"

"You know this means I'll be leaving… right?"

Keitaro's entire body jerked. "Wh-what?" he stammered. "I thought Toshio was going to teach you?"

"He is," Motoko acknowledged. "At his family's dojo. In Hokkaido. As a new student, I'll need to make the pilgrimage to the family house and officially enroll, then start training under the head sensei. There will be tests of endurance, dedication, understanding… everything. I will have to focus on this, and nothing but this, for quite some time."

"O-oh…"

_I guess… that makes it easier, doesn't it?_

The kendo-ka fiddled with her belt for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. "How is your hand?" she asked finally. "Does it still hurt?"

Looking at his knuckles, Keitaro listlessly mumbled, "It's fine. Haven't even thought about it for a week."

"I have," Motoko said. "I've… thought about it a lot."

Keitaro frowned. "You've been thinking about me punching that guy?"

Motoko shook her head, slowly rising to her feet. "I've been thinking about _why_ you punched that guy," she corrected. "I've been thinking… about a lot of things, really. A lot."

Averting his eyes, Keitaro murmured, "Oh… I see."

Slowly, Motoko put her hand under his chin, forcing him to raise his eyes. "Will you kiss me, Keitaro?"

Keitaro blinked, uncomfortably aware that tears were leaking from his eyes. "I would love to," he whispered. Then, as Motoko began drifting closer, he timidly asked, "Is it… a goodbye kiss…?"

Motoko considered this for a moment. "I don't know what will happen with this training, Keitaro," she said quietly. "So… it's a goodbye-for-now kiss… alright?"

"A-alright…"

They kissed, and it was gentle… and quiet… and sad.

Keitaro's heart pounded like a jackhammer in his chest as Motoko's lips touched against his, tasting of salt and mint. She had taken to chewing on her lips, so they were ragged and rough, but Keitaro thought (distantly) that it suited her to feel that way. For now, she was a warrior—a proud sister of the Aoyama clan… and as they parted, Keitaro realized that whatever she was going to be when she returned, one thing was certain.

She would not be his.

Pulling away, Motoko whispered, "I wish… I wish things had turned out differently, Keitaro, I really do. I think… you and me…"

Keitaro nodded, tentatively reaching out to caress her cheek. "It's not too late," he pointed out. "I'll wait for you, Motoko."

"Say it again and I'll hold you to it," Motoko said, closing her eyes and leaning into his palm. "You don't know how hard this is for me. If you say you'll wait, and you don't, I… I don't even know what I'd do. I've… so much has changed, and I don't even understand… I can't even make sense of what I'm feeling right now, so if you promise, and you can't…"

"I'll wait for you," Keitaro promised urgently as she trailed off. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

Motoko stared at him. "I can't take you seriously," she muttered, averting her eyes. "It sounds like a bad movie when you talk like that."

Barking a short laugh, Keitaro scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Then I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything," Motoko countered sadly. "I'll come back when my training is finished, and if you're still interested in… being with me, then that's the way it will be. If you're not… then _that's_ the way it will be."

Keitaro nodded. "I knew it would be something like that," he told her quietly. "Goodbye, Motoko Aoyama."

"Goodbye for _now_, Keitaro Urashima," the kendo-ka corrected, bowing deeply. "It… might sound weird, but in my heart, I'll always think of you as a sister."

Keitaro returned her bow, barely able to squeeze out the words, "Then you'll understand when I tell you that in my heart, I can't think of you as anything but a daughter…"

Motoko's body began to shake. "Y-you don't know-"

"I do."

Silently, tears began to well in Motoko's eyes.

"Is that so?" she murmured, meeting his gaze head on as he colored, but somehow managed to avoid looking away. "I see…"

She turned before the tears could fall, showing Keitaro nothing but her stiff back and unyielding spirit.

"In that case… goodbye, Keitaro."

"Don't you even want to know why?"

Motoko barely managed to keep herself from slumping against the doorframe as she slowly shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she whispered brokenly. "I don't care why, because you-"

"I like you," Keitaro cut in, his voice so soft that Motoko almost didn't hear it. "I want to _be_ like you, Motoko—and so what if someone thinks of you as a daughter? That's still love! Sometimes… sometimes it's ok to let someone else support you, isn't it? No one can take on the world alone, you know? Maybe it's ok… to be a daughter _and_ a sister…? Do you think, maybe, you could try being both? With me?"

"I don't know," Motoko whispered. "I don't know anymore. Goodbye, Keitaro."

"Goodbye _for now_," Keitaro corrected, wondering if it really was temporary. "I'll wait for you, Motoko. I'll wait as long as you need me to."

Nodding, Motoko left him standing in the middle of the hall, wishing with all of her heart… that she could turn and embrace him with both hands—then the wish changed, transforming immediately into a desire to simply hold him any way she could… to hold the one man who had managed to break through all of her defenses and actually _touch_ her.

_Aoyama women are decisive,_ she reminded herself as she walked briskly to her room. _He said he would wait, but then he said he thinks I'm like a daughter. I'm scared to go… I'm scared to stay… God, what should I do?_

Deep down, though, she always knew the answer.

_I'll go,_ she told herself, taking a deep, cleansing breath. _He WILL wait, because he's not like me…_

Swabbing angrily at her eyes as she started to pack, Motoko thought how ironic it was that the word she was about to use fit the spineless manager so much better than it fit her.

…_he's fearless._

The end

Final notes: This story took a lot longer to write than I had anticipated, but I think it became stronger as a result. There were three endings—one incredibly sappy, one incredibly depressing, and the one you just read, which (if I've done my job as a storyteller correctly) should be somewhere in between.

I hope this has been an enjoyable read.

Pre-read on this entire story was courtesy of Hawker-748, who changed it in many ways—all for the better. Thanks. I couldn't have done it without you.


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